


you go down (just like holy mary)

by spale_vosver



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Jonah Magnus, Bisexual Author, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Implied Bisexual Barnabas Bennett, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Trans Jonah Magnus, autistic author, canon-typical religious themes, no beta we die like barnabas but in the euphemistic sense, not explicitly stated but assume that he's trans in all of my fics, the age-old question of "did Mary Mother Of God fuck", trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spale_vosver/pseuds/spale_vosver
Summary: "How virtuous do you think the Virgin Mary actually was?"The question makes Barnabas quirk an eyebrow, and he sets his teacup down on its saucer. Jonah’s giving him that look--verdant eyes shining, mouth tweaked up in a slight smirk, brows pressed together in mock inquiry--and Barnabas knows that he really, really shouldn’t humor the question with any semblance of a response if he fancies staying put together for much longer.“I’m sorry, Jonah, dear, I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”---A simple conversation about a religious figure leads to a special kind of blasphemy, and Barnabas can't say he minds.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	you go down (just like holy mary)

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you let a gay ex-catholic jonahfucker write fics.
> 
> As before, Ambrogio is what I've chosen to call Simon in my fics. There aren't really any serious content warnings, but do be warned that this is like, the most unwholesome fic I've ever written, even if it's non-explicit. 
> 
> (Also the title of the fic is taken from the Ghost song "Mary On A Cross". Go listen to it)

“How virtuous do you think the Virgin Mary actually was?”  
  
The question makes Barnabas quirk an eyebrow, and he sets his teacup down on its saucer. Jonah’s giving him that _look_ \--verdant eyes shining, mouth tweaked up in a slight smirk, brows pressed together in mock inquiry--and Barnabas knows that he really, really shouldn’t humor the question with any semblance of a response if he fancies staying put together for much longer. 

“I’m sorry, Jonah, dear, I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”  
  
Jonah’s eyes narrow some at that, but not in anger or annoyance, no; on the contrary, a faint flicker of his tongue tells Barnabas that, with his response, the game is set, and if this is going to be like any of the games before it--which it likely will--Jonah fully intends to see the game through to its completion.

Or _their_ completion, as it were.

Jonah takes another sip of his own tea, and daintily pats at his lips ( _God, he’s got gorgeous lips_ ) with a handkerchief before he fulfills Barnabas’ request for elaboration.

“Well, her very name--the _Virgin_ Mary--ought to suggest a great deal of chastity on her part regarding the joys of the flesh, correct?” Barnabas nods at that. “And yet Christianity cannot seem to agree on exactly _how_ virginal she really was. We--and I use _we_ loosely here, for I doubt there are any in our company who truly do call themselves Christians--all accept that Jesus Christ was born of a virgin. But beyond that?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” and really, Barnabas _does_ mean to interrupt, if only because Jonah’s irritated pout when he’s not allowed to ramble to his heart’s content is so adorable, “but what’s spurred this on?”

Jonah takes another sip of his tea, and tugs his bottom lip into his mouth ( _gorgeous, gorgeous lips_ ) in thought. 

“Religion is,” he says, after a while, “somewhat of an, ah, interest for me at the moment. Thoughts of it consume my waking days, and I find I cannot be satisfied until I have acquired some new information on it.” That draws a laugh from Barnabas.

“You? Interested in religion?” A wide grin stretches across his face, only widening as Jonah gives him a really-but-not-really offended glare. “Gotten a vision from God, have you? A change of heart?”  
  
“Oh, I’d hardly call it _that_ , love,” Jonah huffs, and thank _God_ a small smile of his own is tugging at his lips, because for as much as Jonah loves to tease, he’s always been consummately awful at detecting jokes and sarcasm. 

“Ah, and you’re sure this conversation isn’t just a front for an announcement regarding your intentions to join a monastery?” An exaggeratedly fake gag finds its way out of Jonah’s throat, followed by a cough and a “fucking shit” at the exertion of it.

“Suggest such a thing again and I’ll have _you_ sent to a monastery. No more fancy dinner parties and well-fitting clothes for you, no; nothing but scratchy brown robes and celibacy.”

“I daresay the last part sounds like more of a punishment for _you_ than me,” Barnabas grins, and now Jonah is grinning too and _God_ , he’s gorgeous, and Lord, if he just crossed the room he could be kissing him-

“The Virgin Mary,” Jonah says, steering the topic of conversation back on course. “Catholicism dictates that she was an eternal virgin--quite a terrible fate for someone they venerate so, really--but, as we both know, Catholicism is the religion of the French and Spanish, and so won’t even be allowed a foothold in this conversation.” Barnabas can’t hide a snort at that, and takes another drink to center himself. “The Church of England, however, has no real opinion either way on the subject, nor a real opinion at all on her. Hence, I am asking you how virtuous you think she really was.”  
  
That makes Barnabas choke on his tea.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and before he can start properly talking again, he hacks a few times to get the last of the water out, “but are you asking me of the- of the Virgin Mary’s _sexual proclivities_?” 

Jonah’s grin is wolfish now, predatory. He _absolutely_ is.

“Jonah,” he begins, and sucks in a breath after he finds his words gone. “Jonah, I. I- well, what on Earth do you expect me to _say_ ? I’ve never- you expect me to have _considered_ this?”

“Well, when I brought up the same subject with Ambrogio, he was quite descriptive,” Jonah says, evenly, and of _course_ he’s talked about this with Ambrogio, because that man is the springboard off of which Jonah can bounce all of his debauchery and unwholesomeness. “I can even tell you some of what he said, if you’d like?”  
  
Barnabas groans, burying his head in his hands.

“That’s a no then, I take it. Honestly, you needn’t be so prudish about such things, especially around me.”  
  
“Yes, but- this is-” God, he’s _stuttering_ . “You’re talking about the _Mother of God_ !”  
  
“Well, yes, I should hope I am, unless there’s another Virgin Mary I should know about.”

Barnabas exhales heavily, and shakes his head, pressing his thumbs into his temples. His ears are burning up, and, were he able to see his face, he’s sure that its color would be rivalling Jonah’s hair.

“If you’d prefer I approach this from a more academic angle,” he continues, and God, he’s _still_ talking, and Barnabas’ head is _still_ buried in his hands, “the Aramaic word that was originally used to describe Mary translated out to ‘young woman’, not virgin. It was the Greeks who mistranslated it.”  
  
Barnabas risks a peek through his fingers at Jonah. He immediately realizes it was a mistake; the bastard’s got his cheek resting on the palm of his hand cutely and at the same time he’s got this devilishly handsome smirk, and oh _Lord,_ is that smirk doing something to him. 

“And really, if we’re to approach it scientifically, she _has_ to have had sex at _least_ once, so it’s not like I’m defiling her holy name by suggesting this. I’m simply curious as to a fellow gentleman’s interpretation of what her later activities might have been.”  
  
Another exasperated sigh comes from Barnabas, and, against his better judgement, he removes his face from his hands. 

“I-” he begins, and he’s going _straight_ to hell for this, he’s sure. “I- well. Husband and wife...type...activities? Kissing? Caressing?” He takes a long, slow drink of his tea, which is a bit too cool for his tastes by now, but anything goes in terms of distractions, and-

“Garden gate?”

 _That_ makes Barnabas spit up his tea, spewing the stuff over the front of him and the table between them. Jonah’s cackling, now, eyes wrenched shut and nose crinkling adorably as Barnabas sputters and coughs and fumbles for napkins to clean up his mess. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jonah wheezes, and Barnabas knows damn well that he’s not. “I just- your _face_ , love! You looked as though you’d been struck by lightning, startled as you were!”  
  
“I _wish_ I’d been struck by lightning,” he grumbles, awkwardly patting at the ever-growing stain on his trousers, and _damn it_ , Jonah’s apologetic pout _still_ gets him. 

“Aw, poor thing. Can I make it up to you?”  
  
Barnabas huffs, and crosses his legs, which, in hindsight, was probably the absolute worst thing he could have done. 

“You can _start_ by letting me borrow a change of clothes.”  
  


* * *

Jonah waits outside as Barnabas changes. As he’s buttoning up the new shirt, his mind, the awful thing that it is, wanders to their conversation. 

A garden gate? Really? 

Barnabas is no Christian by any means, far from it, but- a garden gate? _Sodomy_ ? The mere thought of the Virgin Mary, the most venerated woman he can think of, doing such things is- well, it’s- it’s blasphemous! Really, even _he_ ought not be thinking about it, thinking about her-

Oh.

Oh, no.

“For the love of all that is holy,” he murmurs to no one in particular, “please, _please_ stay down.” He doesn’t need to be walking around with a hard-up right now, especially considering the clothes he’s been lent are Jonah’s and so are a bit too small on him, petite thing that he is. That smallness becomes even more apparent when he tugs the trousers on a bit too roughly and-

“Oh.”  
  
There’s a knock at the door.  
  
“You alright in there?”

Barnabas lets out a shuddery sigh, trying to get his voice as even as possible before he replies:  
  
“Yes! I’ll be right out, don’t you worry!”

He really, _really_ does not need this to be happening right now, not from thoughts about the goddamned Virgin Mary, not when Jonah’s on the other side of the door, concerned, his gorgeous lips curling around his words like-

 _Oh_.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and swallows a whine to the best of his ability. Lord, please, _not_ now. It was bad enough before, but now? 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re breathing quite heavily. Are my clothes too tight on you?”

“I’m-”

He shakes his head. 

“I need a bit of help.”  
  
The door creaks open, and in steps Jonah, composed as ever. There _is_ a genuine look of concern on his face, but one look at Barnabas melts it away.

“Oh,” he says. “I see.”

Barnabas nods, and Jonah kicks the door shut behind him. 

In an instant, Barnabas has his back against the wall and his fingers tangled in Jonah’s curls. All thoughts of blasphemy and indecency are far, far gone; any apologies he might have had to some higher power for the nature of their conversation die upon his lips, because this, _this_ is worship--fingertips pressing into his hip bones, gasps and whines and _Jonah, Jonah, Jonah_ falling from his lips, a steady cant of back-and-forth, in-and-out, push-and-pull. He worships with his body, with his words, with everything he has. He wrenches his eyes open for just a moment, and wails at the sight.

There’s an angel kneeling before him, his carmine curls his heavenly aura and his skilled tongue his sword. He is worshipping and being worshipped in turn; there is a give-and-take, a quid-pro-quo, a this-for-that. He is sure, so sure, that this is heaven; his pants of _Jonah, Jonah, Jonah_ are the lyrics to a hymn only he will ever sing. 

When he comes, he has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting.

* * *

Barnabas is unsure of how long he rests against the wall, sweaty and spent and sore. When his vision decides to return, Jonah is put right back together again, wrestling his frizzy hair into submission with a pick. When he notices Barnabas looking, he offers a soft smile, and the poor man has to hold onto the wall to keep from collapsing for how weak his knees become.

“So. Garden gate?”  
  
He almost doesn’t know what Jonah’s talking about at first, but then recalls their earlier conversation, and nods. 

“Lord, if Mary was as good at it as you, I no longer wonder why Christ had no siblings.”  
  
Jonah smirks at that.  
  
“Oh, love, I’m no Virgin Mary.”  
  
“Yes, but you _are_ divine.”

And _that_ is something that Jonah cannot argue with.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thank you all for reading! (As always, comments are very much appreciated, because feedback is the good kush. Also, "garden gate" is British slang for oral sex. It's weird.)


End file.
